


A Firm Hand

by childrenofthesun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Consensual Non-Consent, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Painplay, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22037908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenofthesun/pseuds/childrenofthesun
Summary: "Oh, I would have liked to see that," Crowley purrs. "You all done up in white and everything, ready to smite any big, bad demons that dared cross your path, now there's a picture."The angel gives him a bashful smile. "Well, it's more cream than pure white, but yes, the whole colour palette is a tad naïve, isn't it? Just a bit of grime and the aesthetics are entirely ruined. Battlefields are hardly known for their cleanliness, after all.""I was more thinking sexy," Crowley tells him, and Aziraphale blinks at him a few times, not processing at first. The demon gives him a slow, lascivious smirk, voice slipping into a lower octave. "Why, you decked out in your battle gear, ready to smite, I'd be powerless in the face of that. I'm all wiles and cunning, me, you'd overpower me in a heartbeat in a physical confrontation. Punish me for my sins any way you like. Make me beg for mercy." Crowley lowers his lashes, peering up at Aziraphale through them in the way he knows always makes the angel's breath hitch. True to form, Aziraphale stutters on a quiet gasp, and Crowley continues in that low, low tone. "You could do with me as you damn well pleased. I wouldn't be able to stop you."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 690
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme, Top Aziraphale Recs





	A Firm Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year's Eve, everyone, have some porn! 
> 
> Fill for the kink meme, original prompt here: https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=1298536#cmt1298536

"What's that?" Crowley asks, propping his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder to read the book in the angel's hands, knowing full well he's being irritating. Aziraphale ducks out from underneath the sharp pressure of Crowley's chin with practiced ease.

"Histories of 17th century Scotland," Aziraphale replies patiently, turning the page.

"Sounds riveting," Crowley tells him dryly. "The kilts, though, those were fun, I'll give you that. You know, I do miss being able to wear a skirt as a man-shaped being without getting funny looks from humans about it. Why _did_ they get all weird about it, anyway, was that one of yours?"

"No, I believe that's another case of humans coming up with silly restrictions for themselves, I'm afraid."

"Still. Miss it. I look good in a kilt," Crowley leers at the angel, grinning. "S'pose there's nothing stopping me doing it, anyway, but having to miracle away anyone that wants to be a twat about it gets exhausting."

"I had a kilt," Aziraphale replies absently.

Crowley snorts. "Of course you did, they're bloody tartan, aren't they?"

With a roll of his eyes and a long-suffering sigh, Aziraphale gives up reading in peace as a lost cause for the time being as he sets the book down. "I'll have you know it was issued to me, as part of my uniform."

Interest piqued, Crowley asked, "Uniform? For what?"

"Armageddon, of course."

Crowley let out a crow of laughter, collapsing dramatically into an armchair. "Heaven had uniforms for the Apocalypse?"

Aziraphale looks surprised. "And Hell didn't?" Crowley raises a disbelieving eyebrow and Aziraphale makes a little moue of acquiescence. "Yes, I do suppose that's not quite their style. Hell has never been as… regimented as Heaven, from what you've told me, has it?"

"No," he says thoughtfully. "It hasn't." He gives the angel a considering look. "What did this _uniform_ of yours entail, then?"

"Oh, well," Aziraphale flusters, going a little pink. "It was rather standard fare, you know, helmet, dress coat…" He swallows. "Kilt, of course. I was in charge of my own platoon, you know. Or, that is, I was supposed to be."

"Oh, I would have liked to see that," Crowley purrs. "You all done up in white and everything, ready to smite any big, bad demons that dared cross your path, now _there's_ a picture."

The angel gives him a bashful smile. "Well, it's more of a cream than a pure white, but yes, the whole colour palette is a tad naïve, isn't it? Just a little bit of grime and the aesthetics are entirely ruined. Battlefields are hardly known for their cleanliness, after all."

"I was more thinking sexy," Crowley tells him, and Aziraphale blinks at him a few times, not processing at first. The demon gives him a slow, lascivious smirk, voice slipping into a lower octave. "Why, you decked out in your battle gear, ready to smite, I'd be powerless in the face of that. I'm all wiles and cunning, me, you'd overpower me in a heartbeat in a physical confrontation. Punish me for my sins any way you like. Make me beg for mercy." Crowley lowers his lashes, peering up at Aziraphale through them in the way he knows always makes the angel's breath hitch. True to form, Aziraphale stutters on a quiet gasp, and Crowley continues in that low, low tone. "You could do with me as you damn well pleased. I wouldn't be able to stop you."

Crowley's practically oozing confidence and sex appeal, but underneath, his heart beats like it's a hummingbird trying to escape the confines of his ribcage. He so badly wants Aziraphale to want this, too, he isn't sure he'll be able to face the angel for a good while if he doesn't. He'll definitely spend some time sulking as a snake before he gets over his mortification if Aziraphale says no.

But, currently, Aziraphale is gawping rather stupidly at him, and Crowley's beginning to worry that he might have broken him. "Angel?" he prods gently, stuffing his anxiousness down into a dark corner somewhere deep inside him.

"...That would be… you find the thought of that arousing?" Aziraphale finally squeaks, and he doesn't sound at all disturbed by the idea, which is a very promising start. Crowley can't help his fond, and secretly relieved, smile.

"And I'd find the actual doing of it even more arousing," he agrees. "If you're interested, that is."

"Aren't you worried I'd… damage you?"

Crowley quirks an eyebrow. "The concern's touching, angel, but you _do_ remember I'm just as immortal as you are, right? I'm a good deal sturdier than I look." Aziraphale still seems troubled, and Crowley softens, covering one of the angel's hands with his own. "I trust you, Aziraphale. I know you. You wouldn't hurt me in a way I don't want you to. But we don't have to do it if that sort of thing is going to bother you too much. I'd want you to be enjoying yourself as well."

"That's precisely the problem, I think," Aziraphale admits quietly, looking down at his hands, absently running his thumb along the edge of Crowley's palm. "I'm rather afraid that the thought of having my way with you like that excites me even more than it does you."

Well. Crowley had expected that Aziraphale might be coaxed into doing it for the demon's benefit, but he certainly hadn't expected _that_. "Does it really?" he murmurs, too instantly, painfully turned on to be mortified by the breathiness of his own voice.

"I'm an _angel_ , Crowley!" he says wretchedly. "I shouldn't be having… _impulses_ like that at all, let alone encouraging them!"

"And I'm a demon, so I shouldn't even be capable of love," Crowley points out. "Yet here I am, over the bloody moon for you. I don't think you should go around limiting things with labels. Really, people's inability to express themselves outside of the confines of the little boxes they get put in has probably caused more than half the world's problems in the first place." He shifts a little, trying to make his erection less glaringly obvious. "Tell me, angel. If you knew that I genuinely wasn't enjoying something you were doing to me, would you keep going?"

Aziraphale looks horrified at the mere suggestion. "Of course not!"

Crowley spreads his hands. "There you have it, then."

"But…" Aziraphale says helplessly, casting about for a new argument, "How would we even contrive a scenario where an angel would engage in…" His tongue stumbles on the word. "Would _ravish_ someone like that?"

"Easy." Crowley shrugs. "Just say you're going to fill me up with divinity to try and burn the corruption out of me."

" _Crowley!_ " Aziraphale gives him a scandalised look. "You know it hardly works like that!"

The demon grins. "That's why we're just pretending."

Aziraphale purses his lips for a moment, considering. Crowley tries in vain to quell the jackhammering of his heart. "Well," the angel says at length, words carefully measured as he glances at Crowley, "If we are to do this, I suppose it stands to reason that if I'm to fill you with divinity, my job would certainly be made easier if I purged you of as much demonic essence as I could."

Crowley swallows, bravado slipping in the face of a rising tide of arousal. "You mean you'd…"

"Make you orgasm repeatedly until you have nothing left to give, yes," Aziraphale replies matter-of-factly.

"Ngk," is Crowley's eloquent reply.

The angel gives him a pleased little smile. "I rather thought you'd like the sound of that."

Oh, this is going to be absolutely fantastic.

\---------

They don't dive into the scene Crowley wants to play out right away, of course. He knows that would be the best way to scare the angel off doing anything like it again for at least a few decades. No, it's always best to introduce these sorts of things to him in small increments - Crowley had been burnt often enough trying to take things too fast, after all.

So, they take things slowly. Over the course of months, Crowley encourages Aziraphale to be rougher with him, to use his angelic strength to manoeuvre the demon into whatever position he likes. This results in Crowley, back against the wall and thighs slung over Aziraphale's shoulders, his head nearly brushing the ceiling as the angel enthusiastically pleasures him with his mouth; Crowley, ankles locked behind Aziraphale's lower back, clinging desperately to broad shoulders as firm hands grab at his arse, bringing him down over and over to be impaled on the angel's thick cock; Crowley, face-down on the mattress, bent nearly double and pinned in place as Aziraphale wrecks him from behind.

Above all, Crowley waits for Aziraphale to tell him he's ready, and finally his patience is rewarded. Aziraphale is almost formal in his approach, to the point where Crowley is surprised he hasn't written up documentation for it. The angel has clearly done his research, though, ensuring they have a thorough discussion of boundaries not to be crossed, of safe-words to be used if either of them begins to feel truly overwhelmed. Aziraphale insists that there will an abundance of aftercare once they're done, and Crowley only puts up a token protest to because he's secretly sure that it will be more to Aziraphale's benefit, given his misgivings. They agree to a date, for the scene to occur at the bookshop so that Aziraphale feels a bit more in his element.

The day arrives, and Crowley feels his extraneous heart pick up speed as he carefully parks the Bentley on the curb, hips swaggering as he approaches the bookshop door. Aziraphale has placed a few minor wards on the front door, just for the pageantry of it, and Crowley smiles as he rakes them to shreds with a clawed hand, the bell over the door letting out its merry tinkle as he forces his way inside.

His lips part, head tipping back slightly as his forked tongue flashes out. He can smell the angel all throughout the shop, permeated into the fabric of the place in way that makes him impossible to actually pin down. He knows Aziraphale's here, though, the scent is too fresh for him not to be.

He prowls along the shop floor, skirting around the pool of sunlight filtering down through the skylight, keeping to the shadows.

"I doubt you'll find what you're looking for on the shelves," Aziraphale calls out to him. "You don't strike me as a particularly erudite fellow, I can't imagine you're after one of my books."

Crowley whirls around, and spies Aziraphale up on the first floor by the balcony, hands folded neatly behind his back as he regards the demon on the floor below. He's wearing the same thing he always does ("I'm hardly going to miracle up a facsimile of my celestial armour, Crowley, what reason would I have for wearing that in the bookshop? The scenario strains credulity enough as it is!"). It's still more than enough to get Crowley's blood pumping.

"Principality," he says, smiling with too many teeth.

"Serpent," Aziraphale replies cordially.

"Won't you come down here and face me?"

"I'd much rather you come up here," Aziraphale tells him, unruffled. "If you're going to insist on making a scene, it really is in your best interest that none of my books are damaged in the process."

Crowley's smile widens impossibly. "Have it your way."

He strides towards the stairs with purpose, treading deliberately in the centre of each step so that they creak under his feet. When he reaches the landing of the first floor, Aziraphale still looking down through the aperture to the main shop, back turned to the demon.

It's so clearly a ploy, but Crowley lunges toward him anyway. The angel sidesteps him neatly, grabbing onto Crowley's collar and his belt as he goes past and throwing him, sending the demon soaring over the balustrade. Crowley extends his claws and catches onto the bannister on the other side of the compass, vaulting up onto the rail and launching himself back across the way. Aziraphale sidesteps again, and Crowley turns the dive into a roll, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He spins to face Aziraphale, just in time for the angel's shoulder to slam into his midsection.

All the air in Crowley's lungs leaves him in a rush as Aziraphale slams him to the floor. Crowley lies there, panting, and for a moment he forgets himself, just about ready to strain upwards for a kiss. Then the angel rears back, grabbing for one of Crowley's arms, and Crowley jams his knee against Aziraphale's load-bearing leg, knocking him over and wriggling free, springing upright once more, Aziraphale right behind him.

Instinct takes over for a second and Aziraphale clenches one hand into a fist. Then he remembers himself and opens his hand, dropping into a low stance. It's so obvious that Aziraphale doesn't want their playfighting to come to actual blows, and Crowley feels such a surge of affection that he doesn't realise Aziraphale's manoeuvred himself behind the demon until it's too late. Aziraphale grabs hold of one of his arms, twisting it behind his back, pinning his wrist against the base of his spine. The angel's other hand rises to Crowley's neck and slots into place around it like it had been moulded for it. Crowley's free hand grabs at his wrist but doesn't try to pull Aziraphale away, too preoccupied by the press of the angel's palm against his Adam's apple as he swallows.

"You didn't truly believe you could best me in a physical confrontation, did you?" Aziraphale laughs, sounding genuinely delighted. "You could never. You weren't built for it." His grip tightens. " _I was_."

Crowley growls, hooking a foot behind Aziraphale's ankle and yanking forward, sending them both thudding to the floorboards yet again. The demon twists out of Aziraphale's grip like his original namesake and surges to his feet, only to find Aziraphale already up and waiting for him. There's a hint of bastardry around the edges of the stony smile Aziraphale's giving him, and oh, fuck, the angel has been letting him go on _purpose_. Aziraphale's just toying with him, giving them both more of exactly what they want.

Crowley isn't sure he's ever been this turned on in his entire life.

"That all there is to the might of Heaven, is there?" he sneers, fighting the urge to fall to his knees and start begging for Aziraphale to pin him down already. "I expected more. 'M disappointed, if I'm being honest."

Something in Aziraphale's eyes goes flat and cold, sending a thrill racing down Crowley's spine. Crowley blinks, and then his knees crack against the floorboards as he's shoved facedown, nostrils filling with the faint scent of pine, both wrists pinned against his lower back by one of Aziraphale's hands. He thinks giddily about how expedient the angel was about granting his unspoken wishes.

Aziraphale's voice is aloof and vaguely disdainful as he says, "What would you know of honesty, _demon_?"

He feels the angel's thighs braced against the back of his own, and it takes everything he's got to not grind up into Aziraphale's lap. It leaves him no spare mental capacity to formulate sentences, so he just gapes stupidly in lieu of actually responding. Aziraphale lets out a growl that goes directly to Crowley's cock and the angel's grip on his wrists tightens, reaching forward and seizing Crowley's hair. He's grown it out especially for this occasion, and Aziraphale has no trouble getting a good handful, leaning down into the demon's wrists whilst simultaneously pulling back on his hair. Crowley tries to squirm away, just to see if he can, and feels his cock pulse again in the confines of his too-tight jeans as he realises that Aziraphale's got him so thoroughly immobilised he can barely move an inch.

Like this, it's impossible to forget that before settling into being the world's fussiest angel, Aziraphale's sole purpose had been as a heavenly soldier. A warrior. Tailor-made to combat the likes of Crowley, to grind the enemies of Heaven to dust. Were he so inclined, Aziraphale could destroy him with ease.

Crowley's hips twitch as he muffles a moan.

"You don't have an answer to that, do you? I thought as much."

"F-fuck," he manages to rasp.

Aziraphale tuts at him. "My, my, they do teach such filthy language Downstairs. I suppose I'd be remiss if I didn't do something to correct that."

Crowley laughs, the sound a little desperate around the edges. "You're obviously not planning on smiting me, so, what, then, you're just going to pour divinity into me until my wickedness is burnt away, is that it?"

Even knowing that Aziraphale's response is preplanned does nothing to dull the thrill of arousal that runs through him, his cock fairly aching from its intensity.

"Something to that effect, yes," Aziraphale says, then casually picks Crowley up by the scruff of the neck with one hand and hurls him bodily onto the bed.

Crowley sails through the air, feet clearing the floor by several inches, the headboard slamming against the wall as he crashes down onto the mattress, long hair cascading out over the sheets in a riot of loose curls. He lies there for a moment, brains briefly scrambled beyond rational thought.

Aziraphale just did that. Threw him one-handed across the room like it was nothing.

Fuck. _Fuck_ , that was so hot.

He tries to get his synapses firing the way they're supposed to, to remember which hand is which so he can get them under him and push himself upright. Aziraphale beats him to the punch, fingers wrapping around Crowley's neck from behind once more and pinning him against the mattress. Crowley gurgles when the pressure increases, Aziraphale shifting onto the bed behind him. He shoves back against Aziraphale's grip on a matter of principle, but of course the angel doesn't budge at all. Crowley's hips spasm at the constant reminder of Aziraphale's superior strength.

Aziraphale whispers a prayer into his free hand, making Crowley strain against his grip to watch what the angel is doing. He can't see much from this angle, but it's enough for him to be able to see the holy light now spilling out of Aziraphale's fingers. Despite the brightness of it, Crowley's pupils dilate. They've played with Aziraphale's divinity a few times at this point, just to be sure that Crowley's able to handle it, and he shivers deliciously in anticipation.

The angel lowers his hand outside of Crowley's field of vision with intention, and Crowley feels the sting of the divine through the denim of his too-tight jeans as Aziraphale gently runs a hand over his arse. With another whisper, the thin barrier of fabric is removed, as are the rest of Crowley's clothes, leaving him naked and vulnerable before the angel, Aziraphale's touch burning acid-hot against his cleft.

Crowley imagines that if this were real and not a scene, this would be the turning point, the moment when the chain of events that were sure to follow would suddenly become all too clear. The moment where the angel's intentions for him were laid bare, that he was going to be crammed to bursting with divinity until either the demonic corruption was burnt out of him, or he discorporated.

It's almost embarrassing how hard he is right now. "Wait, wait," he says, voice trembling. Aziraphale pauses a moment, but when it becomes clear Crowley isn't anywhere near the point where he'd follow up the protest with his safeword, the angel runs a slow, deliberate finger around his rim.

The angel's touch is so hot that it almost feels cold instead, and Crowley can't help the way his hips jerk forward, instinct telling him to avoid the burning sensation of Aziraphale's divinity. But the angel is inexorable, implacable, and Crowley sweats and shakes as Aziraphale breaches him, forcing light and heat into him torturously slow.

" _Oh_ , angel, please," he begs, teeth clamping down hard on his bottom lip to keep himself from making any truly mortifying sounds.

"Crowley," Aziraphale says in a reproving tone as he gives the demon enough space to rise onto his hands and knees, "You're meant to be pretending you aren't enjoying this."

"Right. Er." Crowley stutters, cheeks flaring. He never would have guessed that out of the two of them, Aziraphale would have less trouble staying in character for a scene like this. He's flustered by the fact, and it does nothing to help him get back on track. "G-get off me, then, you- you half-baked Christian Grey wannabe," he says feebly.

Aziraphale lets out a genuinely offended gasp, apparently not as concerned by Crowley's less than stellar acting as he is by aspersions being cast upon his taste in literature.

"I'm going to make you regret that, you fiend," he warns, voice reverberating slightly with divine authority.

Crowley makes a furious noise somewhere deep in throat as he tries to get back into character, his bared teeth a little sharper than they usually are.

"Now," Aziraphale continues primly, "Bend over and take it like a good little demon, there's a dear."

"You bastard," Crowley snarls as Aziraphale shoves him back down by the back of his neck, voice cracking, and for the sake of the scene they both elect to pretend it's from fear rather than arousal. It really isn't that hard to fake it - the searing light emanating from Aziraphale's finger so closely straddles the line between pleasure and pain, making Crowley's body coil tight as a spring with tension even as his cock drips into the sheets below him. When Aziraphale finally adds a second finger, Crowley lets himself clench down tight on it, making the angel work to stretch him open.

Once Aziraphale can press deep enough into him to reach his prostate, he finds it with practiced ease, stroking and swirling in all the ways he knows will drive Crowley to a fever pitch. The divine heat of Aziraphale's fingers feels almost indistinguishable from the slow build of pleasure within him, and Crowley lets out a series of broken sounds. He tries to bury his face against the mattress to muffle them, but Aziraphale's having none of it, fingers twisting through Crowley's auburn locks and pulling tight.

"Nuh- please, don't-" Crowley gasps, words quickly lost to a low moan as he arches within the harsh grip Aziraphale has on his hair, the unceasing press of his fingers against the demon's prostate.

Aziraphale's hold on his hair loosens slightly, enough that it doesn't hurt anymore but not enough that Crowley can move. "This isn't too much, is it?" he asks, voice a gentle murmur.

Crowley's response is immediate. "No, 's perfect, you're perfect, 's exactly what I wanted, please," he babbles, another drop of precum falling from the tip of his leaking cock, and he's so fucking hard, knows that he's inches away from release. He knows that it won't be relief, though, that it will be a good long while until Aziraphale grants him mercy, that he will be made to beg for it.

"So glad to hear it," Aziraphale says, driving his fingers back into Crowley's waiting hole. Crowley shouts at the intrusion, can feel the angel's smirk against the side of his throat for only for a split second before Aziraphale sinks his teeth into the juncture between the demon's shoulder and neck.

Crowley shouts again and cums explosively against the bed.

Aziraphale makes a disappointed sound behind him as he unlatches his teeth, fingers still working incessantly at Crowley's hole. "You really are making _such_ a mess," he murmurs.

"Your job, isn't it?" Crowley tells him breathlessly, more than a little surprised he has the brain capacity left to form basic sentences. "Thwarting whatever messiness one of us wicked demons gets involved in?"

"Well. I'm nothing if not diligent in my duties," Aziraphale says, and Crowley would have rolled his eyes at the utter horseshite of that statement if he hadn't been so busy smothering a needy whine. He has a sudden desire for Aziraphale to order him to clean up the mess himself with his tongue, for the angel to steer his head around by the iron grip he's still got on Crowley's hair. His mind is a little too otherwise preoccupied, though, and he can't quite formulate a way to incorporate the act into the scene in a way that makes sense, given that the whole conceit here is that his demonic essence is being purged from him. Still, he files the idea away for future reference. He can always come up with something later, when his brains are less reminiscent of a plate of scrambled eggs.

Despite his apparent disapproval at Crowley's messiness, Aziraphale has no qualms in making Crowley cum twice more, still using two fingers to fuck him with. All his writhing and whining doesn't seem to spark the angel's compassion, and Crowley casts about for something to say.

"That- that all you got?" he offers up shakily, trying to goad the angel into giving him more. "Armageddon will get here before you've purged the evil from me, at this rate."

"Is that so," Aziraphale remarks mildly, and Crowley almost forgets to smother a victorious grin. "If that's the case, I suppose it would be best if we move onto the next phase. I _do_ hope you'll be able to withstand it without, you know. Exploding. I really don't wish to clean up that sort of mess, irrespective of my duties."

The prospect of literally flying apart at the seams really shouldn't be such a turn-on, yet here Crowley is, whimpering at the loss when Aziraphale's fingers withdraw from his hole, teeth close to biting clean through his bottom lip as he waits impatiently for Aziraphale's cock to breach him. He'd asked Aziraphale to conjure up the biggest Effort he felt comfortable with for the purposes of the scene, and the angel did not disappoint, the hefty weight of it now resting against the cleft of the demon's arse, making him quiver uncontrollably. Whilst Aziraphale has already spent a good few hours teasing him, it really has been just that, teasing, no more than two fingers the entire time. The incoming stretch is going to be just glorious, he can already tell.

Unlike with his fingers, Aziraphale doesn't provide much preamble for the fact that he's about to start fucking Crowley with his cock, merely dragging the slicked head over the demon's lightly stretched hole once before pressing in.

Crowley can feel the minor miracle Aziraphale is performing inside him, because the angel had drawn a line at actually literally tearing up his insides, but the feeling is no less intense for it. He lets out a jumble of pitiful sounds, the ability to form words escaping him for the moment. He thinks he loses a few seconds when Aziraphale bottoms out, because the next thing he remembers is the angel's hips snapping forward to meet him once more. The pace he sets up is immediate, brutal, the angel letting out a quiet grunt with every other thrust. It puts Crowley briefly beyond the capacity for cognisant thought, and he happily lets himself drown for a while in his own helplessness, feeling nothing but the rhythmic movement of the angel's cock into him, over and over.

Aziraphale's hand is still lit up as he grabs at Crowley's hip. For all the intensity of the heat of it, Crowley knows it isn't actually burning him; Aziraphale's grip is tight enough, though, that he can feel the bruises forming under the angel's fingers, like indelible marks of the angel's ownership of him. He lets out a few pathetic whimpers but otherwise submits himself to the rough treatment. He maybe cums a few times, he's not entirely sure, time seeming to dilate around him and lose all meaning.

A brief stuttering of the angel's hips and a low groan is the only warning he gets before Aziraphale grabs him by the back of the neck and shoves him facedown against the mattress, his sturdy bulk pressing down against Crowley. Heat spills into him, far hotter than it should be, a sharp edge of divinity to it that feels like it's scouring his insides clean. Crowley is open-mouthed and panting, his own orgasm shuddering out of him almost like an afterthought as he cums untouched once more.

Aziraphale's voice is low and commanding in his ear. "What say you, demon?" he asks. "Do you feel you've suffered enough as penance for your sins?"

"Fuck," Crowley grinds out, body still rippling with the aftershocks, the pervasive heat within him dragging out the sensation.

"Apparently not," Aziraphale replies, insufferably smug. With a miracle, he dispenses with his refractory period and begins fucking into Crowley anew. He grants Crowley no such reprieve, however, and Crowley howls at the overstimulation, shivering against Aziraphale's forceful thrusts and the sensation of the angel's hot cum lodged deep inside him. He could miracle away his own refractory period, of course, but that would defeat the purpose.

If Crowley wants to claw his way up the headboard, clinging onto it for dear life as Aziraphale jackhammers into him, well, it's clearly a feeble attempt to escape and not a way to give the angel even better leverage against him. And if Aziraphale wants to lace their fingers together over the top of the headboard, it's obviously to keep the demon within his grasp and not at all a sign of affection.

"Is this- _hah_ ," Crowley pants raggedly, long hair dangling down from his hanging head, sweat pooling in the dip of his spine. "Is this _really_ the best you can do?"

"Foolish demon," the angel simpers. "You couldn't possibly have thought I haven't been restraining myself this whole time?"

Then Aziraphale begins fucking into him so hard that the slap of flesh on flesh sounds more like two meteors colliding. Crowley is dimly, dizzily thankful that Aziraphale angelically soundproofed the bookshop long ago so that he could always read his books in peace. The absolute last thing the demon wants right now is for any nearby humans to call the police.

There's a resounding crack, and suddenly there's a long fissure running through the delicately carved headboard. The scene slips away from Crowley a little as he casts a wary eye at the decreasing structural integrity of the bed. "Aziraphale," he pants, breath punching out of him in time with Aziraphale's thrusts, the crack spreading wider. "The bed, maybe we should-"

"Don't be absurd," the angel tells him firmly, not slowing in the slightest, apparently not holding the furniture in the same level of regard as Crowley does. "I haven't finished punishing you for your misdeeds yet." His voice takes on an amused edge, impressive considering he's still pounding away at Crowley like a prize-fighter in a championship bout. "Unless you're ready to beg for mercy?"

"Hng," Crowley replies, distracted by the way Aziraphale's hand has moved back to his hair, his tight grip setting the nerve endings in his scalp alight. Crowley pries his own fingers free of the splintering headboard to instead claw at the sheets, but the wood still slams against the wall rhythmically, and Crowley's having serious doubts that it's going to be able to sustain the abuse much longer. "Angel, I really think the bed's going to-"

Right on cue, there's another series of snapping sounds, and the mattress falls through the broken bedframe, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Aziraphale doesn't even break stride, simply using the momentum to drive into him all the harder. The angel's disregard for their physical surroundings, as if punishing Crowley is the most important thing to him in that instant and everything else is secondary, makes Crowley moan helplessly. He bites down hard on his bottom lip around the litany of swear words begging to be formed, wanting so badly to be good for his angel. He casts about for anything else he can say instead, and blasphemy dances traitorously on his tongue. He's sorely tempted to take the Lord's name in vain, just to see how Aziraphale would react, but admits to himself that that's probably something he'll have to try another time. Besides, he's already told himself he's going to be good.

Finally, he just howls, "Mercy, Principality, have mercy!"

He's gratified by Aziraphale's quiet moan behind him, then the angel slows his thrusts to a standstill. Crowley can feel him trembling with restraint, arousal poking several holes through the angel's lofty tone when he speaks. "Mercy? I take it you wish to repent for your sins, then?"

"Yes, _yes_ , I repent, please have mercy," he begs desperately. He knows he's babbling. He's also fairly sure there are tears in his eyes, shimmering along his lashes as they wait to fall.

Aziraphale reaches down and wraps his hand around Crowley's cock, the first time he's touched him there all evening. The angel starts fucking into him again, gentler than before even as his fingers tighten in Crowley's hair, his other hand stroking Crowley's cock in time with his thrusts. Crowley screams as another orgasm thunders through him. More of that glorious, pervasive heat is spilling into him, Aziraphale clinging tight to his back, his solid bulk pressing Crowley down into the mattress, and Crowley can feel the dampness of his own tears on his cheeks as he spasms uselessly in the angel's grip. His vision goes briefly, blissfully blank, his focus narrowing to the point that the only thing that exists for him is Aziraphale, the only solid constant being the strong arms wrapped securely around him, keeping him safe. Even when his sight slowly returns, the enormity of his regard for the angel doesn't shift. He lays there, gasping, mind flailing against the deep pool of satisfaction seeping into his very bones.

The angel is first to gather his wits - unsurprising, really - and takes to gently stroking his fingers over Crowley's shivering skin, murmuring soft praise as he goes. "You did so well, my darling, you took everything I gave you so beautifully, I'm so proud of you."

Crowley whines, embarrassed by the compliments, especially given that Aziraphale's still buried deep inside him. Aziraphale presses adoring kisses along his shoulders and the top of his spine, taking especial care around the scattering of bruises and bite marks he's left there. Crowley can feel them throbbing in time with his pulse, can see the purple finger-shaped marks darkening on his wrists, his hips. Knows there's surely a matching set ringed around his neck. A shudder goes through him at the sight, physical evidence of Aziraphale's claim over him, marking his body as the angel's property.

Aziraphale is gentle as he slowly eases himself out of Crowley, but Crowley lets out a muffled sobbing sound regardless, feeling suddenly bereft from the emptiness. Aziraphale is quick to soothe him with more quiet praise, more tender caresses of the demon's skin, and he doesn't stop until Crowley's returned to himself enough to form words again.

"Angel," he slurs finally as Aziraphale starts trailing fingers through the demon's hair. "Did- did you bless your cum?"

Aziraphale blushes. "Only a little," he admits. "I rather thought that's what you meant, you know, with what you said about my divinity burning the corruption out of you." His hand pauses mid-stroke and hovers, uncertain. "Do you like it?"

"Hgnf," Crowley replies distractedly, hips rolling involuntarily against the stinging sensation, canting his hips up to stop it from leaking down his thighs, relishing in how deep inside himself he can still feel it. He buries his face against the covers, hiding his own flushed face, muffling his words. "Yes."

The angel sounds very pleased with himself. "Well, if that's the case, what would you say to keeping it all inside you for a little while?"

Crowley moans openly, already knowing exactly where Aziraphale's going with this. " _Yesss_ ," he breathes out, rising on his knees a little but keeping his face pressed to the bed, back arching in anticipation.

He doesn't have to wait long - with a quick miracle, Aziraphale is rolling the slicked end of a butt plug against his slack hole, giving it a teasing swirl before slowly, ever so slowly, pushing it in. Crowley whines and writhes at the renewed stretch, shuddering when the toy suddenly flares at the base, locking it inside of him.

"Angel," he chokes out, still feeling the divine sting of Aziraphale's cum now trapped deep within him.

Aziraphale scoots further up onto the bed, drawing Crowley's head into his lap, dispensing with his own Effort entirely so that Crowley won't get any ideas. The demon shivers and mouths a little at the blank expanse of flesh anyway, before shifting up to nuzzle at Aziraphale stomach. He lets out a contented hum when Aziraphale coos at him, running gentle fingers through his flame-coloured curls.

"Is it all right for me to clean you up?" Aziraphale asks softly.

Crowley bites his lip. "Sure, go ahead, just... could you leave the bruises? And the plug?" he asks, gratified by the way the angel's pupils dilate just slightly at the request.

The miracle Aziraphale performs to clean him is a slow, rolling thing, warming Crowley's skin as it goes, like a shifting beam of sunlight. Crowley basks in the sensation of it, curling himself more snugly into Aziraphale's lap, letting out a happy little noise. "So good to me, angel," he murmurs. "Gave me everything I wanted, only one I want giving me something like that, you're the only one who can, so perfect, love you so much."

Aziraphale's smile is full of love and gratitude and warms Crowley more than any miracle. "I love you too, my darling demon. More than you could possibly know."

Crowley wriggles even closer, biting his lip as the plug is jostled inside him. "Love you more," he asserts, kissing Aziraphale on the belly, then, despite the cum locked inside him still radiating fiery heat throughout his body, he finds himself almost instantly falling asleep in the angel's arms.


End file.
